


A Miserly Moment

by EventHorizon



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Christmas, Don't copy to another site, Heat Miser - Freeform, M/M, Mutual Pining, Snow Miser - Freeform, mystrade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:01:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21957817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EventHorizon/pseuds/EventHorizon
Summary: Mycroft, the current Snow Miser, and Greg, the current Heat Miser, have a bad case of mutual pining but one of them might be ready to move things forward a bit...
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes & Greg Lestrade, Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade
Comments: 28
Kudos: 146
Collections: Mystrade Holiday 2019





	A Miserly Moment

**Author's Note:**

> If you're not familiar with Snow Miser and Heat Miser, they're characters from Rankin Bass The Year Without a Santa Claus. [You can watch their famous (infamous?) musical numbers here.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_SGlPnA_iCk)

“He is dancing again, isn’t he?”

Mycroft looked down at the imp who was seeing through an ice-shrouded telescope at the land of heat and rain, nodding mournfully as his answer to his master’s question. The master in question had no need for the telescope, truth be told, as part of his Miser powers was the ability to do… oh, almost anything within his realm. Today those powers were being used to observe his arch-nemesis who was forever dancing, singing and doing things in the most scantily-clad manner imaginable. The fiery little tart.

“I swear he does it purely to vex me. He knows well I cannot focus upon my work when he is… cavorting and carousing.”

Though, of course, if he was not so intent on _watching_ the cavorting and carousing there would be no distraction whatsoever, but logic came and went at his beck and call, not the other way around. So there.

“He is a villainous creature, Snow Miser. Positively villainous.”

“Without question.”

“Unappealingly dark.”

Tanned like the most perfect, buttery nut.

“Sweaty.”

Glistening.

“With a fat arse.”

“How dare you! I mean… there is no reason to be quite so personal with your insults.”

His bottom is a work of art. Perfectly sized to cup if one had long-fingered hands like, most coincidentally, the ones attached to the ends of my wrists.

“Sorry, sir. At least his hair is nice. A proper winter color.”

Glittering silver like moonlight on a freshly-frozen lake.

“We cannot expect the blackguard to be naught but faults, I suppose. Probability demands he have at least _one_ redeeming feature.”

“That’s the only one, then. His eyes surely don’t qualify as redeeming.”

The imp went flying, somersaulting through several miles of air, but did land in a pile of snow that cushioned his impact. Somewhat.

“Idiot.”

Mycroft slid down a bit further on his throne to more comfortably carry on with his observing and was wholly alone when he let out a long, and longing, sigh. It was only common sense that he was given the Snow Miser throne when it was time for a changing of the guard because, really, who was better qualified for the job than him? But… the Prancing Pecan? How could someone as utterly juvenile and ludicrous as Gregory be given the position of Heat Miser. Really, what was Mother Nature thinking? Was she drunk? It was possible. She did enjoy her wine, both from his own frosty realm and the decidedly subpar vintages from Captain Barbeque. He also sent beer. The swine.

Well, there was nothing for it. There was no gain to be had from railing against the inalterable. He was therefore condemned for a thousand years or more to gaze at the gyrating personification of summer excess and… imagine. _What_ he imagined, of course, was entirely his own business, so no stones would be cast over where such imaginings might lead…

__________

“He still watching?”

The flame-headed imp peered through the telescope at the distant ice-carved castle and nodded at his Miser, who was doing a sinfully-competent job of interpreting through dance the blisteringly lustful music sounding loudly in the large room.

“Yep. He sent an imp flying, too, so he must be in a feisty mood today.”

“Huh. Wonder why?”

Said with a wide grin and a series of motions with his pelvis that would have an incubus fainting in shock. 

“You being scandalous, most likely.”

“Means he has good taste.”

“Not if likes your dancing.”

Greg let his tongue run across his lips and flamed the imp so it was running in a circle desperately trying to put out the sudden fire toasting his impish arse. Evil thing… and little did he know that The Ice King did his own bit of dancing now and again. Late at night, with the cold moon high in the sky, a bewitching melody that only a Miser’s ears could ever hear would sound softly into the darkness and he’d look out his window to see a vision in blue, silver and white slowly dancing among the glittering shards of ice that adorned the lonely parapet at the highest reach of the Snow Miser castle. A figure that let the music carry him, allowing every bit of the emotion he kept frozen inside his frigid heart to flow free and unbridled with the music’s indulgent rhythm.

And, just maybe, while he danced, he remembered that there were _two_ Misers to hear the gentle, soaring notes.

“Thanks for that, sir.”

“You needed new trousers anyway. What’s the progress on… my little project?”

“We’ve got the flowers in and they seem to be thriving. The trees… it’s hard to say, but they seem to be acclimating well. We’ll know in a few months if they’ll actually survive in the long term.”

“Construction?”

“Almost complete. Mother Nature didn’t like the curtains, so we’re having to make new ones.”

“She wanted green, didn’t she? Told you.”

“Red is better.”

“What Mother Nature wants, she gets. Even if it’s not, exactly, for her.”

“Gimme a few weeks. It’ll be sorted.”

“Good. Spring is coming…”

As it always did but this year… it hadn’t been easy convincing Mother Nature to allow him a piece of the world for… a holiday home. A place that wouldn’t be baking in the beautiful sun or blanketed with the frosty snow. A place that would be… in-between. Never too hot, never too cold… rather like the spring and fall where a Heat Miser might need a jumper and a Snow Miser might need short sleeves, but where they could be comfortable when… just maybe… they both paid a visit. At the same time. Just to chat, of course. Talk face to face for once and not through the videophone. Maybe share a meal. Enjoy a stroll or a swim.

Or dance. Dance, not alone to their own, private music, but with a partner. To a song they could share. Dance under a cooler sun and a warmer moon and revel in the chance to simply be Mycroft and Greg and explore where doing that may lead. It might take a bit to coax Mr. Blizzard Britches to agree, but… maybe not so much coaxing as he feared. Only another Miser could see the soft gleam in Mycroft’s eyes right now, as he let himself watch _this_ silly person dance just for his pleasure, but only Misers counted in this equation. And since there _were_ only two of them, the odds were good this equation summed to something lovely for them both…


End file.
